


Hit 'em Where it Hurts

by complaining_is_cathartic



Series: Works that I say might become multi-chapter, but probably won't [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Gen, If this weren't a one-shot it would totally be stuckony, Kinda Tony-centric, One-Shot, Resigned Bucky Barnes is resigned, Sarah Rogers wins best mom award, Teen Bucky, Teen Tony is Tiny, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony would totally fight bullies with Steve, pre-avengers, teen steve, teen tony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 13:38:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15730494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/complaining_is_cathartic/pseuds/complaining_is_cathartic
Summary: Tony Stark was NOT expecting to wake up in the 1930s, nor was he expecting to be de-aged into a teenager (though the latter wasn't so bad). Unfortunately for him, fate seems keen on screwing him over, but what else is new. Being Tony Fucking Stark, the man who built iron man while in captivity in the desert, Tony knows he can handle...whatever this situation is. At least, that's what he thought before meeting a scrawny, teen Steve "Fight Me" Rogers and Bucky Barnes.Steve is just glad that he has someone who will help him in his fights, and Bucky, well, Bucky just hopes that the two tiny fighters don't get themselves killed.





	Hit 'em Where it Hurts

**Author's Note:**

> Heyo! As the tags say, this is a one-shot. And as the series says, this could become multi-chapter, but most likely won't. So please don't get your hopes up. 
> 
> On the flip side, if any of you would like to adopt this fic, then be my guest. I would love to read a fic like this...writing it tho...eh. (Lol yeah, I know it's a bit hypocritical of me.)
> 
> Well, hope you enjoy this little tidbit. 
> 
> OH YEAH. Heads up: I don’t know a thing about the 1930s (but I am well aware the Depression was going on at the time...even if it doesn’t quite show), so if you notice a mistake, then feel free to point it out and tell me how to fix it. Or just ignore it. And FYI, this is my FIRST FIC IN THIS FANDOM WHOO.

The first thing Tony noticed when he woke up was that he could breathe. Nothing in his chest ached for once, and all Tony could feel was overwhelming relief and gratitude as he sucked in a deep breath. His first real deep breath in a long time...

And then reality came crashing down on him.

As much fun as taking in lungfuls of air was, it shouldn’t have been possible for Tony due to the large electromagnet that was buried inside his chest.

Frantically, Tony patted himself down and realized that _holy shit the arc reactor isn’t there._ His mind spiraled as he tried to remember what the fuck happened last night.

 _Uhhh, party. Probably a gala. I was ~~probably~~_ definitely _drinking. Did I pass out? Where even am I? How long have I been missing? Is anyone even looking for me? WHAT IS HAPPENING?!_

His breaths came in short and he wasn’t getting enough air and ohmygod he’s having a panic attack _calm the fuck down_.

Making good use of his now-undamaged chest, Tony took in his second deep breath in a long time and finally observed his surroundings. Raking his eyes from side to side, he noticed that he was in an alleyway which, if he’s being honest, wasn’t that unusual after a night of partying. He checked his pockets for anything useful and, upon finding nothing but lint, sighed. This was turning out to be a fantastic day.

Groaning, Tony picked himself off the ground while stretching out his limbs. Despite having slept on the cold hard cement, he felt oddly rejuvenated.

The genius ventured out of the alleyway in search of more information and hopefully a person with a phone. Walking into the evening sun, his eyebrows knitted together in confusion as he looked around. It felt like he just walked out into a movie set or one of Howard’s old film reels.

Brick buildings with glass showcases displaying various items surrounded him. People crowded the streets and _seriously old_ (to Tony anyway) cars rolled down the roads.

Feeling immensely out of place with his (suspiciously baggy) black suit, Tony watched as all the other men around him walked by in shades of brown and grey. At least his suit fit in, even if it wasn't the right color. Giggling girls in no shorter than mid-calf dresses or skirts strolled the sidewalk, their small heels clicking on the ground.

Building up his courage, Tony stopped a lone man walking by, grabbing onto his arm and asking, “Why is everyone dressed so weird?”

The man looked Tony up and down, unimpressed, and Tony, feeling small both metaphorically and literally (when did he get so short?) tapped his fingers against his thigh.

“Kid, the only weird-looking one is you.”

Vaguely insulted, Tony snarked, “Kid? Listen, buddy, I would bet my entire fortune—and trust me, that’s a lot of money—that I’m older than you.”

The man snorted and yanked his arm out of Tony’s weak (seriously, what’s wrong with Tony’s body today?!) grip. “If you have so much money, then why dontcha go buy better clothes and leave me alone.”

The guy walked away, and Tony was about to go off at him because _who does he think he is talking down to_ Tony Stark _like that?!_ when he caught sight of himself in a store window.

_What. The. Hell._

Tony rushed forward and started poking and prodding his cheeks, shocked as he saw the person in the reflection copy his actions.

No.

The person in his reflection couldn’t have been older than 20...probably (definitely) younger. Tony was a 40-something-year-old man.

Biting back the urge to scream, Tony ran towards a newspaper stand and ripped a paper off the rack. “The Brooklyn Eagle” stood out in bold letters at the top (information that Tony filed away for later) as Tony scoured the page for a date.

_April 28, 1935._

This time, Tony didn’t hold back his scream.

“FUCK!”

Ignoring the concerned and disapproving looks shot his way (as well as the “Hey, buddy, you gonna pay for that?”), Tony dropped the newspaper and grabbed at his chest as the familiar panic bubbled up. He felt his control slip, and once again his breaths came in short gasping intervals. Someone was shaking him, trying to get his attention, but Tony just _couldn’t_ focus on anything at the moment.

Just as the edges of his vision went fuzzy, a warm hand rubbed up and down his back.

“Shh, honey. You’ll be fine soon,” a warm voice murmured. “Just breathe with me, in and out.” The person, presumably a woman, took exaggerated breaths and continued rubbing his back. Tony felt his breathing even out. The woman, a smile in her voice, encouraged him, “That’s it. This will be over soon.”

Tony swiveled his head towards the voice and tried to focus his vision. He realized he must’ve fallen at some point, as he felt the ground beneath his knees.

“Are you with me?” The woman questioned softly as Tony finally got a look at his savior.

Short and slightly curled blonde hair framed pale skin. Blue eyes gazed intensely into his soul.

Tony spoke without thinking. “Are you an angel? Am I dead?”

The woman (hopefully charmed and not creeped out) laughed. “No, honey, you’re not dead, and I most certainly am not an angel.”

Breaking the scene, an annoyed man grumbled, “Move it somewhere else, kid. You’re scaring away the customers.”

Shooting the man a (surprisingly) menacing glare, the woman helped Tony up and wrapped her arm around his narrow shoulders. Tony stumbled alongside her, still a little out of it.

“Let’s get you to a more _supportive_ environment,” the woman said, purposefully staring the disgruntled businessman down.

The pair walked in silence for a bit, giving Tony time to collect his thoughts.

“So,” the woman brightly interjected, “I’m Sarah. Sarah Rogers. You are?”

The genius mumbled, “Tony.”

Amused, Mrs. Rogers(?) Sarah(?) inquired, “Does this Tony have a last name?”

“Uhh,” Tony paused.

Ms. Sarah(?) Rogers(?), mistaking the silence, replied, “Don’t worry, I won’t bite,” a bright smile on her face.

“Um. Rhodes. Yeah. That’s my last name. Tony Rhodes.” He winced. That sounded fake even to himself.

Sarah? Tony’s just gonna call her Sarah, didn’t seem fazed and took Tony’s answer in stride. The walk fell into awkward silence once more.

Realizing that he had no idea where Sarah was taking him, Tony asked, “Uhh. Where are we going?”

Sarah stopped at a run-down brick building and headed inside. “Just stopping at my place to make sure you’re alright.” She glanced at Tony and gave him a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, I’m a nurse. I’ll take a quick look and send you home. Okay?”

Tony didn’t respond and decided to let the woman guide him. He tried not to think about the arm still wrapped around his shoulder, not wanting to make the situation even more awkward.

After a few flights up some very creaky stairs, Sarah gently brought Tony into a small apartment. Tony tried not to be too judgmental, as he knew that not everyone had the same luxury as he did. All in all, however, the place wasn’t too shabby. The kitchen had all its necessities, an icebox, sink, stove, and cabinet (all disconnected), but nothing more, clearly designed for work and not hanging out. Tony sat at the small kitchen table in the middle as Sarah settled some items around the living room.

Tossing her purse onto a small couch, Sarah fiddled with a radio sitting on the table next to the cozy seat. Tony listened as Sarah flipped from station to station, static crackling between the voices. She stopped, satisfied, and Tony surmised that she found the station she was looking for. Faintly, Tony heard a smooth, lofty voice on the radio address his listeners with, “My friends,” before Sarah asked, “Do you mind the radio? It keeps me calm.”

Turning towards her guest, she smiled, and Tony shook his head. Sarah kept her eyes on Tony and scanned him up and down. As she took in his baggy clothes and tired posture, she tsked. “What on earth _are_ you wearing?”

Tony drew into himself defensively and sniped, “Would you rather me be naked?”

Conceding, Sarah put her hands up placatingly. “I just want to make sure your parents are treating you right.”

Again, without thinking, Tony replied, “My parents are dead.”

Dead. Silence. (Pun not intended.)

Tony blushed and looked away as Sarah’s face morphed into that of concern. “Tony,” she said slowly, “are you homeless?”

“No!” Tony blurted. “Wait. Yes? Technically? I mean—uhh.” Foot, meet mouth.

She parted her lips to say something else― _probably pitying me,_ Tony thought with a scowl―but was cut off by the radio abruptly fizzing and dying.

Tony sighed in relief as Sarah turned her attention to the radio, a frown on her face from being interrupted.

“Not again,” she lamented, picking up the radio.

Curious, Tony inched his way into the living room and settled on the couch. His hands twitched as he prevented himself from reaching out for the piece of technology.

Sarah turned her gaze towards Tony once more and smiled sheepishly. “Sorry about this; the radio is used. We, my son and I, bought it cheap at a pawnbroker’s shop.”

Tony couldn’t help the grin spreading across his face. He held out his hand confidently. “I can take a look at it.”

Sarah raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

 

* * *

 

After fixing the radio, the topic of Tony’s living situation didn’t pop up again, which Tony was grateful for.

Sarah, being the wonderful and kind woman she is, insisted that Tony be paid for his work and ended up cooking a meal for him. (Tony tried to refuse, but his stomach growled, the traitor, and gave his hunger away.)

“Wuht abut yer kid,” Tony asked, mouth full of _divine_ roast chicken. He swung his feet back and forth under the chair. (He reasoned with himself that the chairs were just too tall, and anyone who said otherwise was a _dirty liar_.)

Sarah shook her head, a reluctant smile playing on her lips. “Don’t speak with your mouth full, young man. Where are your manners?”

Tony swallowed and snorted. “Dead, probably,” he mused, “along with my parents.”

Ignoring the rather dark comment, Sarah gently placed her hand on Tony’s shoulder. “You are welcome here anytime.”

Embarrassed, Tony looked away. “Thank you,” he mumbled, a warm feeling settling in his stomach (and it wasn’t just from the food). “But it wouldn’t feel right. I don’t want to impose...especially during such troublesome times.” He looked down at his plate, pushing the food around as he realized that Sarah probably needed it more than he did.

Sarah grinned, a cheeky edge to her smile. “Now, who said you would stay for free?” She held up her hands, ticking off appliances that needed fixing. “My fan has been freezing up lately, and the toaster is a couple uses away from bursting into flames! Not to mention the stove…”

Startled laughter tore from Tony’s lips, and he shook his head in clear amusement. “Using me for my brain, I see. I knew your intentions weren’t so pure, Ms. Rogers,” Tony teased, a fake scandalized expression on his face.

“In this world, you’ve got to get by any way you can.” Sarah shrugged, pleased that Tony was loosening up.

Pushing away from the table, Tony brought his now empty plate to the sink. He hovered near the entrance of the kitchen, just a couple steps away from the front door. “Um, I finished, so I guess I’ll just…” He made a vague gesture towards the door.

Sarah frowned and placed her hands on her hips. “Stay, please. At least for tonight.”

Tony pointed his eyes at the ground, shuffling nervously. “You never answered my question about your kid.”

“He’s staying at a close friend’s house,” Sarah informed.

“Oh.” Tony continued looking down.

Sarah sighed at his stiff form, slowly reaching out to lift his chin. “I’m not doing this out of pity, Tony.” She sternly looked into his eyes. “I told you I was a nurse, and as a nurse, I help people.” She shone her million-watt smile. “Let me help you.”

Tony swallowed. “Okay.”

 

* * *

 

Steve walked home along with Bucky (who absolutely _refused_ to let the former walk alone).

“I’m fine, Buck. Really,” Steve said, irritated.

Bucky rolled his eyes and nudged his best friend’s shoulder. “Yeah, right. I take my eyes off ya for _one second_ and the next thing I know yer punk ass is fightin’ someone for, _god forbid_ , litterin’ or somethin’.”

Steve threw his hands in the air. “This city is  _filled_ with trash Bucky! _Someone_ has to take care of it!”

“Yeah, but that someone doesn’t have to be _you_.”

The pair walked up the stairs to Steve’s apartment.

“ _Who else_ would it be then, Bucky?”

“I don’t know, Steve!” Bucky raised his voice. “Hopefully someone who’s not an _asthmatic_ that weighs 90 pounds _soaking wet_!”

They opened the door, still bickering, and found Sarah standing in the kitchen, a worried expression on her face. There was a note in her hands.

Steve took notice of his mother’s ire and immediately inquired, “What’s the matter, ma?”

Bucky chimed in with his own concerned hum.

“Oh, boys.” Sarah focused on her son and his friend (who was basically her son as well). “Have you seen another boy walking around? He’s a little taller than Steve and is wearing the most peculiar clothes…”

Steve and Bucky shared a look and shook their heads.

“No, ma’am. We would’ve noticed someone shady-lookin’,” Bucky replied, concern in his voice. He puffed up protectively. “Why? Someone causin’ ya trouble?”

Sarah hurriedly shook her head. “No, no. He’s a kind young man. About your age.” She smiled sadly. “He doesn’t seem to be in the best of places right now. Homeless. Orphaned… Very lost-looking.”

“I’m sorry, ma,” Steve began. “We could go searching for him if you’d like?”

“Ah, no. That’s okay.” Sarah sighed, “That boy is too prideful to accept our help… Well, more help than I’ve already given him.”

Bucky shrugged, breaking the tense atmosphere. “Nothin’ we can do then. What’s for breakfast?”

Steve shook his head fondly, and Sarah finally smiled, tossing the note into the trash. “What would you like? I finally have the toaster up and running, so you can get some nice sandwiches!”

Bucky whooped as Steve frowned thoughtfully.

“I thought the toaster was in dangerous condition?” Steve prodded, eying the appliance.

Sarah’s smile turned secretive. “Well, our mystery boy turned out to be quite handy. He got the radio fixed as well!”

“Wow! Wish I could’ve shown him around my house,” Bucky commented.

“Perhaps you’ll bump into him,” Sarah replied, getting started on breakfast.

 

* * *

 

Later, Steve dug his mother’s note out of the trash, grimacing at the empty eggshells and dirty paper towels that brushed against his arm. He held the crumpled paper gently, reading the crisp print on the letter.

_Sarah,_

_Thanks for the kind hospitality. It’s more than I deserve, really. Sorry I didn’t stay to say goodbye. I hate goodbyes._

_Anyway, I fixed your toaster―no biggie. It’s the least I could do. Also, your stove is fine now too. I couldn’t find your fan, but if I see you again, I’ll make sure to get on that._

_Keep being the amazing person you are._

_\- T.R._  

 

* * *

 

Tony was fine. Completely, totally, 100% fine.

Being a teen was cool. Totally cool. He didn’t mind looking young at all. And living in 1935 wasn’t so bad! He was sleeping in crowded shelters and under bus stops which was fine too. Besides, he scraped by with the payment (either in the form of money or food―one person was even kind enough to give him better clothes) he got from fixing up other people’s stuff.

Everything was fine.

Occasionally, he missed warm hands and caring blue eyes, but that didn’t matter. He could take care of himself.

Walking from one of his client’s house and counting his earnings, Tony (who was _fine_ ) couldn’t help but notice a fight going on in the alley behind one of the popular movie theatres.

Some poor schmuck was getting picked on by a burly man. The kid looked young and skinny. (Tony ~~empathized with~~  pitied him.)

“Give it a rest, punk. You’re just embarrassing yourself,” the man mocked, a sneer in his voice.

The kid, from what Tony could see, lifted his arms up in a fighting stance. “I could do this all day.”

Tony couldn’t stand by any longer, anger coursing through him at the obviously unfair match.

“The only one embarrassing themselves is _you_ , asshole,” Tony called out, glaring at the _much bigger_ man. “Picking on someone half your size is pathetic, really. It’s obvious you’re just trying to feel better about your shitty self.” At this point, Tony reached the skinny kid’s side, standing in front of the other protectively.

Taking a good look at Tony, the man laughed derisively. “You’re no bigger than him, pipsqueak.” He doubled over, wiping his eyes. “What’re you gonna do? Headbutt me in the nipples?”

Tony felt his eyebrows twitch and he grabbed a nearby piece of wood, a vicious smile on his face. “Say goodbye to your kneecaps, asshole.”

 

* * *

 

Bucky just wanted one day― _one day_ ―without Steve “fight me” Rogers getting into a brawl.

He and Steve were supposed to be relaxing at the theatre. God knows there’s not enough joy these days. But of course, Bucky just _had_ to take a bathroom break and Steve just _had_ to be missing when he came back.

Bucky groaned. “This punk…”

He ran out of the theatre, immediately knowing to search in the alley. Stopping in front of the entrance, he saw Stevie and another figure stand against a man bigger than the two of them combined.

“What’re you gonna do?” the man ridiculed. “Headbutt me in the nipples?”

The figure (just a little taller than Steve, but definitely a healthier weight) bared his teeth, murder in his eyes. “Say goodbye to your kneecaps, asshole.” And then he slammed a wooden plank into the poor bastard’s knees.

Bucky swore to every God he knew. “Fuck, there’s two of them.”

 

* * *

 

Tony knew it was sick, but he couldn’t keep the absolute glee off his face when the prick howled like the mutt he was.

“You crazy fucker!” The man fell to the ground, holding his knees.

Childishly, Tony stuck out his tongue. “You started it, dick.”

“Language.”

Tony looked behind him, taking in the kid he saved with an incredulous frown, eyebrow raised. “I just beat up the dude that was gonna beat _you_ up, and _that’s_ all you can think about?”

The kid scowled at Tony. “I had it under control.”

The genius scoffed, sniffing the air.

“What are you doing?” The kid, blonde, skinny (is he even eating anything???), and aggressive, asked, annoyed.

“Do you smell that?” Tony questioned, ignoring the kid. “Because I smell _bullshit_.”

A laugh came from the entrance of the alley. “Yeah, that’s Steve for ya.”

The pair, ignoring the groans from their fallen aggressor, turned their heads towards the newcomer.

The Steve kid sighed. “Bucky.”

The newcomer, Bucky apparently, sighed, copying Steve. “Steve.”

Tony could only glance between the two suspiciously. _Bucky and Steve…_ Tony squinted his eyes at the two. _It couldn’t be._ The (supposed) genius finally put two and two together, his eyes bugging out of his head.

“Holy shit.”

Steve, turning his attention back to Tony, reprimanded, “Language!”

Tony, ignoring Steve once more, pointed towards the pair of besties, finally noticing all the traits. The blonde-haired kid who wouldn’t back down from a fight. The long-suffering best friend.

 _Holy shit_.

“ _You’re_ Captain America...and _you_...” Tony held his head, stepping back as if physically hit.

Bucky felt his mother-hen instincts kick in. “Hey, are you alright?”

Tony wasn’t listening, he was spiraling once more, and he grasped at his hair, muttering. “Thiscan’tbehappeningwhatarethechanceseven _Idon’tknowwhat’sgoingon_!”

Steve felt a twinge of empathy, stepping carefully towards Tony. “Hey, everything’s alright. Just breathe.”

Tony looked at Steve, eyes glassy. “I... I don’t know what’s happening.”

Bucky and Steve exchanged nervous glances, coming to a unanimous decision.

Bucky lightly grabbed Tony’s arm and tugged. “Let’s get you somewhere safe, yeah?”

Dazedly, Tony stumbled after Bucky, Steve trailing behind to keep watch on the two.

Tony didn’t even care that he came off as weak. He couldn’t think about anything besides the fact that he just encountered teenaged _Steve Rogers_ and _Bucky Freaking Barnes._

He blindly followed the pair as they guided him down a (familiar) sidewalk, up (familiar) creaky stairs, and into a (familiar) apartment.

Sitting down on a (familiar) kitchen chair, he was too out of it to notice _Steve Rogers_ and _Bucky Barnes_ converse about him.

“Buck, _what_ are we going to do?” Steve whispered harshly.

“I don’t know!” Bucky whispered back, watching their strange, unknown guest out of the corner of his eye. “I thought _you_ had a plan!”

Steve stared sharply at Bucky. “Why do _I_ always have to have a plan?”

“Because you’re _good_ at it!”

The two were interrupted by the door creaking open. Tony whipped his head towards the source of the noise and, lo and behold, Sarah _Rogers_ walked through the door.

“Oh my fucking God.” Tony’s thought-to-mouth filter was thoroughly wrecked. “I’m an _idiot_.”

 _Sarah_ ROGERS. _How did I not notice that???_

The woman in question stared into her apartment, bewildered by the scene before her.

“Tony?”

Steve and Bucky stared back at Sarah.

“You _know_ him???”

 

* * *

 

Several late introductions and confused arguments later, everyone found themselves at a standstill.

Sarah rubbed her temples, staving off a migraine. “Let me get this straight.” She sent her son a Look™, beginning the story, “ _You_ were in _another_ fight that _you_ ,” she turned her gaze to Bucky who shrunk away from those knowing eyes, “were unable to prevent.” Finally, she pinned Tony down with a disapproving look and finished, “and _you_ had the bright idea of _helping_ instead of _breaking the fight up_.”

Steve grumbled, “I didn’t need the help.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Uh, yes. You kinda did.”

Agreeing with Tony, Bucky nodded his head silently as Steve sent a pleading glance towards him.

“Enough!” Sarah sliced her hand through the air. “That’s _not_ what this conversation is about. Although, believe me, Steven Grant Rogers, we _will_ have a discussion about your fights.”

Tony directed a pitying glance at Steve. “Oooh, she used the middle name.”

Bucky elbowed him, and Tony quickly came to attention as Sarah once again pinned him with her gaze. “You will _also_ get that discussion, young man.”

“Aww, no.” Tony pouted, but he couldn’t help that warm feeling from building up inside him, happy that someone cared.

Silence reigned over the group, everyone gathering their bearings.

“So…” Tony broke the quiet awkwardly. “Do you want me to take a look at that fan?”

 

* * *

 

**Bonus:**

Bucky stared despairingly at Steve and Tony. After clearing things up, the two got along _fast_. Currently, they were exchanging ways to beat up potential opponents.

“I’m telling you, Stevie-kins, go for the groin. You gotta hit ‘em where it hurts.” Tony said, nodding sagely along with his words.

“But that’s fighting _dirty_!” Steve shook his head, scandalized. “And _don’t_ call me that.”

“Look, _Stevie-kins_ ,” Tony leveled Steve with a challenging gaze, “do you fight to _win,_ or do you fight to get your ass handed to you.”

Steve met the gaze head-on. “I fight to _teach other people_.”

Tony snorted. “That’s mighty noble of you and all, but nobody is going to learn _shit_ if you let them beat you down.”

Bucky shook his head. He didn’t know whether to feel relieved or horrified that someone was willing (or _stupid_ ) enough to aid Steve in his fights.

“God, I can’t believe I have to look over these idiots.”

Sarah sent him another knowing glance. “You don’t have to.”

Bucky kept watching the two fighters. “No, I’m gonna.”

**Author's Note:**

> If any of you were wondering, this low-key came about because of this Tumblr post: https://incorrecttonyxeveryonequotes.tumblr.com/post/173899739033/quill-anyone-under-58-cant-talk-about-fighting
> 
> Some of you might’ve recognized it.


End file.
